


Catharsis

by dsa_archivist



Category: due South
Genre: Drama, F/M, Fix-It, Hurt/Comfort, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-02-28
Updated: 1999-02-28
Packaged: 2018-11-10 18:45:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11132601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsa_archivist/pseuds/dsa_archivist
Summary: An ending, possibly,  years after COTW.





	Catharsis

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Speranza, the archivist: this story was once archived at [Due South Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Due_South_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Due South Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/duesoutharchive).

Catharsis

## Catharsis

by MC Stephens

* * *

PG for general situation 

COTW spoilers...the action takes place a couple of years thereafter. Minor Seeing is Believing spoilers. 

Your characters Alliance...but if you don't want them anymore..... 

Note, I loved COTW. finding the ending for Fraser just perfect. And in truth...the Meg of season 3 and 4 did not deserve him. Perhaps after this little tale she will. Be warned, deserving him is painful. MC 

Catharsis 

Sitting huddled on blankets in the back of the twin engine cargo plane, was not her preferred means of travel, although it was probably not the most uncomfortable she had experienced. In the last three years, since joining the Security Intelligence Service, Thatcher had travelled the world, sometimes first class, sometimes clandestinely...but usually in the heat not this numbing cold, and usually heading for somewhere. This journey was to the middle of nowhere. 

In her mind's eye she conjured up the picture of the only other time she had travelled this far north. It had been March, with thick snow and blizzards, and men on snowmobiles carrying heavy armaments, a nuclear submarine rising through the ice of the inlet. And Fraser, there had been Fraser. 

She began to doubt the wisdom of accepting Cloutier's advice. 

*Get away Meg. As far as you can. Give yourself time to heal. Then decide on our offer of reinstatement in the **RCMP***

The Royal Canadian Mounted Police. It had been her life for 15 years. Slowly climbing the ladder of promotion, she had been heading for the top. However she had come to loathe the red tunics that surrounded her, knowing that Fraser was not there, remembering how she had organised leave for his adventure, then arranged his promotion to corporal and transfer to the Yukon. 

It had been the right thing to do, but nothing seemed to matter thereafter. So she had applied for the transfer to security, where she could actually do something other than paperwork and attend parties, and get as far away from the snow as possible. She had been good. Code named _Ice Queen_ she had worked undercover all round North Africa and the Arab world, until that dreadful day. She shivered, and it had nothing to do with temperature. Someone walked over her grave. 

They actually had. She  
had watched as they dug it. She would like to be able to remember that she had stood straight and tall facing the firing squad, but she couldn't. She had had to be tied to the post, unable to stand. Her lapse into unconsciousness had probably saved her life. It was no fun to kill an unconscious person, and by the time her senses returned she had been found by the Red Crescent. After that things improved, they could not get worse. In the time before her repatriation there was no more torture, no more beatings, no more degradation. 

She wrapped the blankets closer around her, curling up on the floor amongst the airfreight as she had curled up in a ball to try to protect herself while in prison. 

She had closed in on herself, to cut out their screamed questions, to distance herself from what was happening to her body. Unable to bear the horror she had forced herself to concentrate, had visualised the swinging loonie, heard his voice repeating the RCMP manual. She had survived. 

Hospital in Ontario had been heaven in comparison, clean sheets, warm water and food. They had offered her plastic surgery on her back but she had declined. They offered her psychiatric help. She declined that too. A shake of the head. Somehow the words would not come out. No words came out. 

It was Henri Cloutier who had brought her back to some semblance of normality. She was no further use to the security service, her cover blown. He offered her a future. He had arranged this trip, the short summer months at Arctic Bay. The RCMP detachment, one sergeant, one constable, had spare accommodation. She could have all the time and space she needed to recuperate. Nothing to worry about except the insects. 

So here she was, flying north, with a pack containing little more than a change of clothing, and a small crate with enough supplies for three months. When she thought of the luggage the old Meg used to find essential... 

She nodded her thanks to the Constable as he unloaded her gear into the bachelor accommodation that had been made available to her. Poor man had been quite putout to find that the VIP he was meeting turned out to be a woman. Their information had not been very complete. Meet, provide transport and foul weather clothing as required, otherwise leave alone unless aid requested. 

It took her about thirty minutes to reconnoitre the hamlet, a small cluster of buildings at the water's edge. She was glad of the fur lined jacket. The wind off the icecap kept the temperature low despite the blue sky. Later she would take out the 4-wheel drive and follow the cleared tracks between the mountains. 

She entered the empty RCMP reception room, and headed for the door to her accommodation. A dog barked and shot through the open door of the sergeant's office. Tail wagging and mouth open, he danced round her. Meg was stunned. Her gaze travelled from the dog to the man in the doorway, taking in the blue pants with their yellow stripe, the beige shirt with rolled-back sleeves, up to his face. Looking into those blue-grey eyes, she heard again the recitation of the RCMP manual as the loonie swung before her, she felt again the agony of the torture cell, tasted the vomit, and crumpled towards the floor. 

Fraser caught her before she hit the deck. He had left his desk, surprised at Dief's reaction to the visitor. He looked at the woman, very short brown hair liberally flecked with grey, but it wasn't until he met her eyes, huge eyes in the pale gaunt face, that he recognised her. He was already moving forwards when she started to fall. 

Through a haze, Meg was aware of clothing being removed, loosened from around her throat. She heard barked orders, and felt herself being picked up. Strong arms held her close and carried her into her bedroom. Oh yes, she remembered the smell of him. Tears began to prickle in her eyes. This was not happening. Nothing they had done had made her cry...scream, beg, plead...yes, but cry ...no. 

She submitted to the medical examination, another one, heard the intake of breath and the muttered "Sweet Jesus". The doctor quickly realised that he would be told nothing of the cause of the injuries, bear attack was the closest in his experience 

"You lost the power of speech when...this happened?" 

She nodded. Doing up her shirt buttons, she looked passed him to Fraser who stood in the corner of the room, arms folded, with his eyes never leaving her. She was reminded of his expression as the two trains separated with Bolt's gun to her head. 

"Rest. Relax. It will come back" 

She smiled. Well, at least, the corners of her mouth moved. It had been a long time since a smile had reached her eyes. 

Fraser escorted the doctor out. She could hear muttered voices from the next room. When the gentle knock came, she was already filling the two mugs with coffee. 

"Sir?" She shook her head 

"Meg?". A nod this time. 

"Sorry for the dramatics" she signed, wondering if he could interpret. Silly woman, this was Benton Fraser. "You are supposed to be in Whitehorse, a corporal" 

"That was three years ago, Meg. A lot has happened since then" He regretted saying it the moment it left his mouth so he hurried on. 

"I heard you left The Force. I assumed you had got married or something" 

"Or something" she signed "Not married". She pointed to him with a question. 

"Me? Married? No. I considered it once, but I couldn't ask her to live this far north. It's a cold, barren, empty landscape, where any mistake could be your last; endless miles of silence with only yourself for company. A most unappealing prospect" 

After three years, he could still remember her words. 

"Can you tell me about the `or something'?" 

"Security intelligence, but it is all over. I got caught" Her hands fell flat onto her knees. That particular conversation would go no further. 

Understanding flashed across Fraser's face.. "The Ice Queen. You are the Ice Queen?" 

She nodded. 

"Why did you call yourself that? Ice..Canada?" 

A shake of the head, a flash of the hand 

"Ray" 

Fraser could feel the flush rising. 

"You knew he called you that?" 

"I knew most things. You weren't the only Mountie with trained hearing" 

The conversation was interrupted by a loud knock 

"Sorry to disturb you, Sergeant, but there's a telephone call from Ottawa." 

Excusing himself, Fraser made for his office. 

"Sergeant Fraser" 

"Fraser, this in Henri Cloutier, we met in Chicago" 

"Indeed Sir, I remember" 

"You will be having a visitor shortly I think I should warn you that...." 

"You are a little late, Sir. Our visitor is already here" 

"And has she said anything?" 

"No Sir, not orally" 

"I had hoped the shock of seeing you would have some effect" 

"It was most dramatic, Sir, but unfortunately not the response for which you hoped" 

"Has she told you what happened?" 

"No Sir" 

"You should be aware of the little we know, she refuses to discuss it..either by sign or in writing. The doctors feel that until she is able to share her experiences, her voice won't come back" 

"Understood" 

"She was betrayed and captured. They had her for nearly four weeks before we found her. She had been beaten, tortured, starved, and almost certainly raped" 

Fraser could find no words to reply. 

"Take care of her, Fraser, I think you could be her last hope" 

"I'll do my best, Sir" 

Fraser slowly replaced the telephone handset, and looked across at the woman who just entered his office. He was filled with compassion for the injured soul before him. He gestured towards the telephone... 

"Henri Cloutier hopes you have a good holiday" 

The sign in response was graphic, requiring no translation. 

They soon established a routine. Eating together in the evenings, Fraser told her about Whitehorse and his promotion, they shared stories of mutual friends, of RCMP politics. Meg would tell of the heat and the desert, but whenever the point of her capture was reached her hands would fold into her lap. Thus far and no further. She would travel with him when his duties allowed, and otherwise walked along the shore and short distances into the hills. Her strength improved and colour returned to her cheeks 

They took a dogsled to visit outlying settlements. This time she didn't just sit and freeze, but ran alongside to keep warm, and was exhilarated at the increasing skill with which she learned to handle the team. 

Fraser knew everyone by name. He was greeted in Inuktitut, Meg didn't understand. 

*Hey Fraser...this your woman?* 

*Oh, I do hope so* 

*A woman who can't talk. You're a lucky man* 

His Innuit stories that had seemed interminable in Chicago became charged with meaning as conduits of ancient lore, she began to understand how they had filled his life. The land she had thought barren and empty proved to be anything but....animal tracks of arctic fox and hare, ground squirrels and lemmings, caribou and musk ox, occasionally polar bear, criss-crossed the snow before the wind obliterated them. Above them were gyrfalcon and ravens. Fraser described how once the ice melted and grass covered the shoreline, the whole area would be full of birds, mainly waterfowl, coming to the arctic to breed, when the packice broke up there would be whales. Flowers would be everywhere 

Walking together on the still frozen shoreline, she had watched in awe as lights filled the sky. As curtains of changing colours seemingly waving in the wind he had kissed her. Another night she had stood with Fraser's arms round her and watched as the sun sank to the horizon and then began to climb. The time of the midnight sun. She had learnt how to smile again, but still said nothing. 

Their longest journey necessitated staying at a tiny family community up the coast. They were welcomed, as Fraser was everywhere. Alone, he would have overnighted in a leanto but for her he set about building an igloo. Peals of laughter greeted its collapse on top of him as she attempted to help. 

A seal was landed and butchered. Fraser was concerned how Meg would react to the gruesome act in the snow, particularly when the first slice of the still warm liver was held out for her. 

"Is this an honour?" she signed 

He nodded, and was relieved and impressed when she took the meat, ate it, and then licked her fingers to show how much it had been enjoyed. Later, he thanked her 

"I have eaten worse" she signed, then hands deep in her pockets she lost herself in her memories, as if he were not there. It became her blackest day in a long time. 

Much later, they sat outside the igloo on boxes, by the fire Fraser had built using wood from the communal pile of driftwood collected during the summer thaw. For the first time they were uncomfortable together. Meg had been alternately agitated and withdrawn. Fraser did not know how to help. Whatever she needed he would do, but he could not lead, only follow. He prepared to leave the fire to set up his small tent, when she laid a hand on his arm. 

"I need to talk" 

"Yes, I think you do" 

A long silence. 

"I said I had eaten worse" she signed. 

He nodded, eyes flicking from her face to her hands. He began to repeat aloud what she was signalling... 

"There was a time...in prison...when they didn't feed us at all" 

Long pause. 

"I had been beaten...there were no dressings...no medication...the weals....festered" The last word had to be signed in individual letters. 

"There were flies....the maggots fattened on the pus and the dead flesh" 

He shuddered involuntarily 

"We ate the maggots" 

His stomach heaved, but his face showed nothing but concern. 

After another, even longer pause she continued. 

"There is more...worse" 

"I know" 

"You know?" 

He nodded. 

"How?" 

He took both her hands in his 

"Meg, You were their enemy, alone and at their mercy...." 

She continued to look at their clasped hands, not able to look him in the face 

"...and female and beautiful..." 

"...there was nothing you could have done" 

She dragged her hands from his and she signed in a fury.. 

"I could have died. I wanted to die" 

Then she raged, beating against his chest with her fists as his arms made to encircled her. The tears that had been held back for weeks flowed freely Finally giving in to his strength, she allowed herself to be held, and sobbed into his shoulder. 

He half led, half carried her into the igloo. In the half-light of the midnight sun entering through the joins between the snow blocks, he kissed the salt tears from her cheeks, from her eyelids. Holding her protectively, his lips brushed hers, soft gentle kisses. Meg stiffened in his arms and pulled away. 

"Meg, I won't hurt you." 

She frowned, surprised. Her hands moved 

"I was afraid...that you wouldn't want to even look at me, that you would be repulsed at the thought..." 

"And I was afraid that you would think all men were like them. They were animals, Meg, lower than the maggots that kept you alive." 

Meg looked into the clear honest eyes, full of concern, and more. She ran her hand over his cheek and he turned his head to kiss the palm. With a slow smile spreading from her eyes to her mouth, her hand slipped into the hair at the back of his head and drew his lips down to hers. 

And so finally, they consummated the passion that for her had started that first day, when an unbelievably handsome constable had stood tall before her, saying that he would not change his uniform, that he didn't really care what she thought.... For Fraser, when she smiled her thanks for the return of her broach, a hand had reached into his chest and squeezed, and he embarked on the years of celibacy that had just ended. 

There, in the igloo, engulfed in furs, the Ice Queen had melted. Above the sound of beating heart, of pulse racing, Fraser heard his name being repeated over and over. 

Meg had found her voice. 


End file.
